With That Pretty Face of Yours
by Dapper Dumpling
Summary: Allen F. Jones spends nearly every night closing down his local bar, trying to avoid a family he hates and a life he feels incomplete. When Luciano Vargas appears to save him from a fight, their unlikely companionship slowly becomes something more. {Human AU 2p!ItalyX2p!America}


With That Pretty Face of Yours

Allen let out a loud belch, his fingers pulled taught around the neck of a bottle of beer. The bar was doused in dull illumination of cheap overhead lights. Dark wood accompanied the tables, chairs and the bar up front where Allen sat in his own little alcohol induced world.

The brunette slumped forward over his drink. His deep brown eyes slid closed as his throat erupted steadily into a low hum. Nothing else matter to him in that moment than his beer and the song stuck in his head that he was humming lightly to.

"What the fuck man?" Allen cried as he was jerked forward slightly, his eyes popped open and his shallowly buried fury rushed to his side. Someone's intoxicated body brushed jerkily into his, tipped his drink and gave him the perfect excuse for an outlet after having silently brooded the night away.

Before the poor guy, just as drunk and uncoordinated as he was, could get the chance to apologize Allen whipped around and pulled fistfulls of the man's jacket forward. "You gotta problem, there Sonny?" He shoved the man forward. "You wanna go?"

There was no further discussion. Allen didn't give him a second to respond before he smashed his fist into the man's face, throwing all his weight into the very first swing. There was a shuffle, a struggle and favor of the fight was easily slipped out of his control. Blurs of color spurred past Allen's vision and blinded him to his advisary. Hit after hit was clumsily landed on his body, sapping the strength out of his muscles. Great, of course he'd picked the one guy in here he couldn't handle.

A horde of bar goers crowded around in a large semicircle, completely embarrasing and making Allen feel more trapped than he did in the current chokehold constricting him. Lights in the bar was started to glow brighter, his throat was closing off, he squirmed to no avail, he needed air dammit!

Just as he slid his eyes closed and was about to give into oblivion when he was dropped like a log onto the floor, gasping and spluttering like a dog in the blistering summer heat. The American keeled over on his burning side. Was that blood? Wait, more importantly what was happening? He turned his head just in time to see a third party slam the behemoth of a man into the bar. There was a shuffle and Allen's line of vision was cut off by the ring of spectators surrounding the ongoing brawl.

From there the bartender let out a shout, there was a crash and everything went quiet. Slowly the onlookers chipped away, eventually parting to allow Allen a clear gander at the scene. A lone figure stood in the center. The man turned and a hand appeared for Allen, who realized he was still on the ground. Fuchsia eyes filled his vision and he felt his body freeze on the spot.

"What's your name?"

The American blinked, his mind oddly blank. His accent was obviously Italian, his jaw was oddly rounded not unlike that of a woman's, his skin was tanned a few shades lighter than his own. Not having moved to take his hand the stranger reached forward and pulled him up by his collar. Allen steadied himself on the floor and opened his mouth to answer when some idiotic product of his drunken state spewed out instead.

"Are you an angel? Cause you must've flown right out of heaven to save my ass."

Those admirable fuchsia eyes narrowed menacingly and the grip on his collar suddenly became vice. "My name is Luciano asshole. Call me anything else and I'll deal with you with a knife."

A grin stretched across his features and another moronically automatic line spewed out of his mouth. "That a promise cutie?"

Like a whip Luciano struck and Allen's left cheek bloomed with pain. He clutched the side of his face with his hand and let loose a hiss of pain. Before Allen could open his stinging eyes the bell at the door tinkled and Luciano was gone as quick as he'd come.

…

Allen didn't see Luciano until about a week later.

The scrape of a chair being pulled up was what warned Allen of his presence. He glanced over and rose a brow at the presence of the Italian. He finished off his drink and waited for Luciano to speak, his eyes lingering on the details of his counterparts face. Soft chestnut hair framed is supple cheeks and paired perfectly with his dark skin. Allen crossed his arms and tilted his head to the side, waiting for a voice that never came.

Luciano's eyes were closed. The longer he sat there staring at the Italian's face the more he wanted to know what he was doing there. Was this… kid old enough to be drinking? He was downing glass after glass of red wine without hardly a disturbance in those pools of flawless skin. Then again, he was Italian. Weren't the laws on drinking different in Italy? He didn't know exactly.

The corners of Allen's mouth curled up. This youngster was pretty cute whether he was legally here or otherwise. Why was he just sitting there? Didn't Luciano know he was here? Or was he just ignoring him? Likely. He'd fucked up pretty bad last time they'd spoken. Maybe that was why he was so sure Luci would speak first, just didn't trust himself enough to speak without making an ass of himself.

The more his counterpart ignored or remained ignorant of his presence, the more intensely Allen started. Sure he felt a little like a stalker but at quick sweep of the bar proved no one was watching, and who really cared anyway? So long as Luciano didn't say anything he was happy to enjoy the view.

The pair kept time with the slamming of glasses against tables. Allen's face was perpetually turned up in a grin, waiting for the Italian to see him. He couldn't wait for Luci, whether he was aware of him or not, to turn and look. He wanted to upset the balance in his unwavering expression, make Luciano squirm and writhe. If that meant embarrassing him so be it.

It wasn't until the third time Allen saw Luciano that he managed to evoke any sort of reaction.

It had been a sort of game, the dark American allowed his eyes to trace every freckle, every little scratch. No matter what he found that disrupted the solid wave of tan skin he didn't see them as flaws, they paired perfectly with the shape of his jaw, and the curve of his nose.

The peace was shattered out of the blue with the rather violent slam of a bottle against wood as Luciano viciously put down his wine after pouring himself out another glass.

"What do you want?"

It was only the third time he'd heard Luciano speak. He'd forgotten just how deep his voice was. Dark burgundy eyes turned up to stare at glaring fuchsia orbs. That was the second time he'd seen Luciano unsettled. He couldn't say it was anger, actually it felt more like annoyance.

Allen stuttered, not at all prepared to answer. "I- well I mean- uh, sightseeing?" Lame.

Luciano leaned back in his chair, his eyes pinning Allen's down and paralyzing him with their purplish venom. He crossed one leg over the other. A silver glint made the American's eyes flicker down for a moment. Luciano had one hand neatly placed against his thigh, the other twirling a tiny thin knife between his long boney fingers.

"Sightseeing." The Italian repeated, his eyes turning down on his knife. The quiet tone sent an uncomfortable shiver down Allen's skin. "And you've been thinking that it was open for the public?"

"I've been thinking I want to talk to you and you've been ignoring me." Allen crossed his arms. "Somethin wrong with that?"

Luciano reached forward with his fingers still entwining his knife to grasp his glass. He took a long sip, his eyes didn't meet Allen's again. "If you have something to say, then say it and cease your attempts to fray my nerves."

"Fray your- I wasn't tryin to start nothin. I just wanted to know why you saved my ass last week." Allen muttered.

Luciano raised a brow at the American. "What do you mean?"

Allen stuttered. Did Luciano not remember something that had been playing in the back of his mind all week? "Last week." He managed. "You kicked that guy's ass for me. Why did you do it?"

Luciano glared at his glass. "Oh, that." Allen waited for another response that didn't come. Eventually the Italian looked over at his expectant gaze and rolled his eyes. "Fine. I was pissed and you gave me an excuse to beat the living shit out of someone. So I suppose it should be me thanking you."

"What had you upset sweet thing?" Allen took another little sip of his beer.

"I've told you once before not to call me anything that isn't my name." The Italian snarled. "Or I'll leave more than a temporary red mark this time."

The American puffed out his cheeks briefly. "Sensitive much? What, were you pissed cause someone bumped into you on the street or somethin?"

"No. I just don't like nicknames. Call me 'Luci' and I'll maim you."

"Noted." He sang, way too happy about this banter than he should have been. "So what got your panties in a twist _Luciano_?" He made a production about saying his name in full. Luciano's grip tightened around his glass but otherwise he did not react to his tone.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Personal?"

"Something like that."

Luciano downed the last of his wine, laid some cash for the bartender and left without another word.

…

Luciano never said anything when he left. No 'see you later' or 'goodnight' or even a simple 'goodbye' ever graced his lips. He would arrive, order, drink, pay, and leave. It didn't matter whether Allen chose to talk to him or not. Whether he'd asked a question that never received an answer he would always just leave. Sometimes at 8:00 sharp and sometimes he would linger until well after midnight. Allen always stuck around til closing unless Matt called him with an emergency like François had nearly burned down the kitchen again or Oliver was upset and trying to murder everyone in the house. Just normal stuff.

Honestly, Luciano never put two words together if he could help it. Allen had heard him speak of course but he did all or most of the talking if there was any at all.

Luci had a different tone when he spoke in Italian. He never said a word to Allen in anything that wasn't English, but on occasion his phone would ring and he would speak in nothing but Italian. Though monotonous, Luciano's voice was oddly captivating. It was flat and yet melodious. Honestly the American would gladly fall asleep to Luciano talking, but he didn't speak anything unless he had to, unfortunately for him. Oh well. He was just happy that, for some reason, Luciano spoke to him at all.

When Allen inquired about Luciano's strange leaving habit Luci just shrugged and replied with an easy. "I only say goodbye to people I know I'm never going to see again."

Allen stared at him. A shiver crawled up his now rigid back. Something about the way the Italian had said that had his entire body tight with discomfort.

Maybe foreigners were just weird like that? He sure hoped so anyway.

"Right. Yeah. That makes _logical_ sense." Al drawled. Irritate fuchsia eyes glared his way but to Allen's surprise Luciano simply got up and left without a word to his defense.

Every day he said to himself 'today's the day I'm going to get him to tell me why he's spending his nights in a bar every other night' but the thing about Luciano was that it was far too easy for him to manipulate everything in his favor. He could redirect the conversation without Allen even realizing. Before Al knew any better he'd tried to ask the Italian why he was here. He just looked so young…

That was the first time Allen heard him laugh. It was deep and quiet like everything else that was Luciano. It was cold, cruel, mocking him for even daring to ask such a, for lack of better word, stupid question.

Allen frowned. "What's so funny?"

"You're surely younger than I." Was all he replied, his voice lingering on his laugh.

"Me? I doubt it. You look like you've just snuck out of the window to go illegally drinking in a bar. So tell me is Mama missin her boy?"

Luciano's face went carefully back into it's usual blank expression without a sign of ever having been disturbed. "No, I don't believe she is. I'm twenty-five years old."

Allen whistled. "Damn. And here was I thinkin' you weren't a day over seventeen." The corners of his mouth turned up again when his response was met by a familiar glare. He loved that rush he got when he managed to get under the Italian's skin.

"Fuck you. I'm twenty-five years old. Try me."

Allen held his hands up. Maybe he liked to fight but he knew better at this point than to get into a physical fight with Luciano. "It's all good. I'm surprised you're older than me. I'm twenty-one six months ago."

"Then I guess you're the 'kid' among us yes?"

"Oi I ain't no kid!" Allen eyed the Italian critically.

"You're young. Just started college I'm guessing. Compared to me that's child's play. Tell me I'm wrong"

Reluctantly he gave in. "Well, you ain't completely wrong. I dropped out of college, what was it, two months ago?"

That's how Allen got sucked into Luciano's easy way out. It was incredibly effortless for Luci to obfuscate conversation without him even noticing.

Unfortunately he would learn this game far, far too late.

…

It took about another week for Allen to allow himself to let go completely.

It started of course with the night he told Luciano about his college fiasco and only escalated from there. Before he knew it the Italian was pulling out things he thought would never again see the light of day. And the worst part of it was he had no idea how he'd managed to do it.

At this point Allen could tell when Luci wasn't listening. Ironically enough it looked a whole lot more like he was when he wasn't. His eyes would be playing on Allen's face, but those usually piercing eyes were out of focus. Too many times already he'd caught Luciano dozing off or not paying attention while he was talking. It was when Luciano was seemingly staring off into space that he could recite every single word Allen had said with martinet precision. It never ceased to amuse him to catch the Italian off guard or make him jump when he wasn't paying attention. It distracted him from the disappointment of knowing he hadn't been interested in what he had to say. He wouldn't admit how much it hurt when that happened. This he just accepted this without question. Why worry about something as fickle as feelings?

"What's wrong Luciano?" Allen chuckled, having clapped his hands in front of his counterpart's face and made him jump ever so slightly. "Lost in my eyes?"

"Hardly." Luci rubbed his forehead with his middle and index finger. "Falling asleep again."

The foreigner pushed his drink away and was about to pay and make his escape when Allen called him back with a hurried. "You don't gotta leave. I don't mind." He did, but not enough to want to be left alone for another three hours. "It's only 9:00. You didn't strike me as the kind to wake up early for church."

"No. I need to leave."

"Tell me what for and I'll stop my bitchin." Allen offered. Luciano opened his mouth, but quickly closed it, scowling. Allen let out a little laugh. "You tryin to run out on me?"

Red rushed to ripen the Italian's tan cheeks. "I was just embarrassed…"

"From what?" The American asked boredly, propping his head up with his hands.

"You. You're embarrassing to be around." Luciano stated.

"If I didn't know any better I'd say you're teasing me." Allen cooed, his eyes following Luci as he sat back down beside him. "Looks like I'm rubbing off on ya."

"For your sake I certainly hope not."

"Why's that?"

"Because if you're rubbing off on me, it stands to reason that I would be rubbing off on you."

The American scoffed. "Not likely. I'm pretty set in my ways."

"Doubtful that you would notice. People change, for example you didn't always spend every night in this bar. When you were younger perhaps you would spend your time in your room or maybe with your friends. Now you'd rather be here than do either."

Allen looked away. That had been painfully close to the truth. "Yeah well…" He took a swig of his drink. "Onward and upward huh? Was that some sort of guilt trip?"

"Do I look like the kind to be making an accusation like 'you shouldn't be drinking'? I'm stating a fact. How you interpret it is up to you."

"Fair enough." Allen looked down at the alcohol laced substance before him. The way he'd worded it made Allen want to defend himself. Though it was clear the Italian was indifferent he still opened his mouth and added. "I don't like to go home, that's all."

That's how he let all discretion he'd been holding onto let loose. The second those eyes met his the dam breeched and that's when Allen's filter stopped working in front of Luciano. This first time had been more of a justification, but once the information was out there it wasn't like he could take it back, so why did it even matter anymore? If there was one thing he knew it was that it was a mistake to leave yourself too vulnerable in front of the Italian. If he smelled blood he was merciless, as the many bar fights he ended the night with stood testimony.

One night Allen asked, his voice so maudlin it almost wavered. "What are you even doin' here?"

Luciano didn't look abashed. "Same thing you are: drinking." For emphasis he took another gulp of his glass of white wine.

"You could go anywhere to drink." The American scoffed. "There are plenty of bars round these parts. Probably nicer ones too." Luciano appreciated class and beauty, it was one of the few things he'd told Allen. "What I'm askin' is why you stick around and listen to the likes of me."

Luciano didn't pause in his response. "Well, I can't right get rid of you now. You need me."

"Liar. What's it to you anyway?"

 _What do I mean to you?_

"What's it to you all of a sudden?"

"I just want to know."

"Who cares?"

"I do."

His counterpart crossed his legs and let out a small breath. "Fine then. I prefer your teasing to sitting alone. Plus you're always getting into trouble you can't get yourself out of, you fucking idiot."

Allen glared down at his beer. His muscles twitched, he was incredibly violent when mixed with one part virulence and two parts alcohol. Luciano was making him angry with his stupid words and his insufferable attitude. The Italian's bitter look on everything was driving him mad.

"And I like you more than most of the people I know." His burgundy eyes perked hopefully. Luciano was drinking again, when he put down the glass again he glanced side-ways over at him and frowned, confused. "Was I not clear?"

Allen smirked. The words had him completely placated. "Crystle."

…

The first time Luciano kissed Allen, it had been an apology.

The American did have a job, it usually didn't bleed into his time at the bar but he worked for a bunch of assholes, so of course today, a day he'd pegged Luciano usually liked to meet him, they found a way to reach past 6:00. Fuckers.

When he did arrive at the bar, the sight that met him was a little surprising to say the least. Luciano was having it out with at least three huge men all at once. It wasn't an unusual sight to see the little bugger fighting, but he'd never taken a bigger bite than he could chew. By the time Allen snapped out of his daze and got over to separate Luciano from his little altercation several others were already separating his victims. In Luciano's blind rage, he turned right around and struck Allen in the mouth; blood spouted from the welt that erupted on his upper lip. Swearing loudly the American released Luciano and placed a hand on his afflicted wound.

"Ow what the hell–?"

His counterpart turned and planted a light kiss on his unblemished cheek, a light touch of his warm lips against his dark skin.

Really it was incredibly foolish of him to allow the Italian to draw color from his cheeks. That was exactly the kind of moronic thing that Luciano would take advantage of if he was given the opportunity, and mock him endlessly about in the future. But there was something in those fuchsia eyes that caught him off guard that night. Something more than just alcohol had his eyes clouded in that transient emotion that graced his face for just seconds before he murmured with the most sincerity Allen had ever heard come from him...

"I'm sorry."

It was the first time he'd ever heard him apologize and he hadn't a clue what to do about it. He stuttered incoherently until finally Luci just sat back down. That night ended in silence. Luciano didn't spare him a single glance.

The second time it happened, Luciano had been saying goodbye.

Maybe it wasn't terribly unusual for an Italian to kiss their friend on the cheek like that, but Luciano was different. He hated everything to do with physical contact if it wasn't beating up some poor drunk idiot when he was bored. So when he stood up on his toes and planted two lingering kisses on either of Allen's burning cheeks he blanked completely. That night in particular drifted hazily in Allen's memory, all he could make of it anymore somehow involved those two short kisses and more than a little emotion; he associated the memory more with discomfort than much anything else.

Allen never mentioned these brief moments again. He was afraid they only ever happened because Luciano was far too drunk to understand what he was doing. Besides, the illusion that the Italian liked him that much was more than enough. He was more than aware Luci owed him nothing, he was more afraid than he'd like to admit of him leaving one night and not coming back again.

…

"So you're just hanging out with some guy at a bar? That's where you've been going every night?" Allen leaned against the wooden wall, his stomach simmering with that slight annoyance that always plagued him when he spoke to his family. James probably annoyed him the most, but at least he tried.

"Yeah." He said shortly, hoping the blond would just leave it alone.

Silence dominated the call for a moment. "I'm coming down there."

"No I–just listen to me–James!" The dial tone rang in Allen's ear before he could say anything else. Allen scowled and put his phone back into his pocket. Why he had bothered answering anymore still sincerely shocked him. As cooly as he managed to smooth himself over, Al slid back next to Luciano and said matter-of-factly. "So, yay, you get meet James today."

"Who?" Luciano took a sip of his drink.

"My younger brother."

"The one who always beats the shit out of you?"

Allen pouted. "Ain't got another one do I?"

"Why am I meeting him?"

Allen groaned and covered his face in his hands. "I don't know. He's comin' down here probably to yell about how I'm wastin' my time or whatever."

"Joy." Luciano took a sip of his wine. Allen recalled once having asked Luciano if he had any family. He'd denied it at once, saying he didn't have anyone like that in his life; so then of course he wouldn't really understand why this was going to be so awkward.

"Don't worry. He's a hardass so maybe y'all will get along."

"You really think putting two hardasses in one room will produce positive results?"

"A man can always hope."

James didn't waste much time in getting down there. Altering everyone in the bar to his presence as he stomped in those large military boots over to the little corner of the bar where Luci and Al sat and stared, Luciano in question and Allen in mortification.

As soon as James sat down next to Allen Luciano averted his gaze without a word. Not one to be ignored James leaned forward, his eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses and said rather loudly. "The name's James. Pleasure." It was more of a growl.

Luciano didn't look at him. "I don't believe I asked, but mine's Luciano."

James scoffed. Allen tried to lean forward as much as possible to try and sever this contact. Trouble was stirring up between these two and he wasn't going to be the one to condone it.

James jabbed his thumb in Luciano's direction. "This is what you're doing instead of, I don't know, working? Coming home? Not wasting fucking money maybe?"

Allen's cheeks puffed out with annoyance. He knew the only reason James was doing this was to provoke him away from Oliver's watching eye, but it got to him nonetheless. Luciano crossed his arms, clearly it was taking a considerable amount of restraint for him to keep calm.

Al stood rigid. "It's my money I'm makin', I'll do whatever the hell I want with it. Besides it's your fault I'm here, I wouldn't be drinking if you weren't such an ass."

"Don't pin this on me fucker I'm not sitting here forcing booze down your throat."

"Like you actually care."

"You're clearly the one who doesn't care."

"Then don't tell me how to live my life!" He banged his hand down for emphasis. "For fucks sake leave me alone!"

A lot happened in a very short span of time. Luciano perked from his stupor, James took hold of his collar and slammed his fist into Allen's nose. Struggling as always to get his bearings, the American's hand flew to his face as a splurt of red scattered about the room. With little time to react, he watched James already swinging for him a second time. Chairs scraped against wood, yells and murmurs suffocated the air as Allen reached out a forearm to stop a third strike by the blond.

Strength in his muscles began to slowly drain under his brother's force. Allen felt boxed within a single moment, like being stuck on the same page of a book repeating the same scene again and again. The American turned his head away from James' dark glasses, currently sliding down to reveal his light violet eyes. Why was he so pathetic under the hand of his own brother, of everyone?

Before he'd registered what was happening James' weight left him and a bang resounded throughout the bar. Allen sat up, propping himself up on his elbows. Blood ran rivers down his face and past his chin. They swerved around his cheeks like tears and crawled into his eyes. Blinking furiously, wiping his burgundy orbs he pushed himself to his feet, trying to get his stinging eyes to adjust properly to the scene before him.

Allen didn't see much of the fight. People crowded around James and Luciano as the Italian rammed him up against the wall and struck him over and over almost unendingly as his fist smashed into his face, his stomach, his chest...

James kneed him in the stomach, but by the time he could compose himself Luci was already back on his feet and gripped his flannel shirt, flinging him in the direction of the door.

Allen watched in astonishment as Luciano walked over to him, took him by the shoulders, sat him back down on his stool and asked the bartender for a glass of the same bourbon that Allen had still in front of him. He peeked over at the look on Al's face, but merely rolled his eyes and took a sip of his drink. "Wuss."

That was the second time Luciano defended him.

…

When the conversation died the Italian waited for him to begin speaking, not even sparing his counterpart a glance as per usual. Allen couldn't help but grin. He had nothing to say which meant it was time for some fun.

He batted his eyelashes at Luciano. "You're so cute when you ignore me."

A piercing glower met this response–a common occurrence since the elder of the pair gave up trying to stop his counterpart's insistent flirting. Allen couldn't hold back his chuckle, man he loved annoying this guy. "What on earth are you going to do with that pretty face of yours?"

"Pretty?"

Allen blanked at Luciano's confusion. "Yeah, you're good lookin' as hell. You didn't know that?" He reaffirmed his accusation by trailing his eyes over Luciano's dark skin, those long lashes that fanned over those winsome nearly purple eyes, the soft slope of his jaw...

Luci leaned back against his chair, the old chair's wooden creak brought his attention back to conversation. "I guess I never really thought about it before."

Allen slung an arm around Luciano's shoulders and, still grinning madly, leaned in and whispered gleefully into his ear. "You're extremely hot. You've got a nice face, nice eyes, and an even nicer ass. You're fucking hot. So hot you could probably fuck whoever you want–I'd wager you're pretty good too bein' Italian an' whatnot..."

Luciano yelped and struggled to get away from Al. He planted his elbow in the American's stomach when his struggling failed and he remembered he still had some bite. Allen coughed and spluttered, Luciano didn't apologize.

"Right, lesson learned." Al wheezed, holding his stomach where he'd been struck. Anger didn't register even as tears filled his vision and pain curled his stomach. He knew where to draw the line when it came to Luciano. And anything sexual was one step far too many.

They sat in relative silence for a while. The weight of his words sent waves of discontent rolling between them. It was all Allen could do to try and pretend he hadn't just made a complete idiot of himself. Though he had to admit, it had been pretty fun, fun enough for him not to regret it in full.

"Oi." Allen nudged Luci, who bristled at once. Ok, he was evidently not yet forgiven. "Calm down there firecrotch, I jus' wanted to apologize."

He shrugged, his peeved expression unchanged. "Ok."

"I mean it."

"Fine."

"Luci–"

"Don't call me that." The Italian snarled.

" _Luciano._ " His fuchsia eyes turned on him, alight with indignation. "I'm sorry, a'ight? So just forgive me already. Come on I know you're still pissed."

Luciano crossed his arms. "Whatever."

"I'll buy you a beer."

"I don't like beer."

"Scotch?"

"Waste of money."

Allen's grin only widened. "Kiss and make up? Hey hey I'm just foolin'!" He rushed as Luciano raised that iron fist against him once more.

Luciano spat some, well he only assumed, insult in Italian before lowering his raised arm.

Allen took a quick sip of his beer. The silence was suffocatingly awkward. Allen kept glancing over at Luciano who for the very first time was stealing glances right back at him. Reddened already with alcohol, the American's cheeks shone crimson. What was he doing? Luciano never showed much interest in looking his way before.

Breath came more quickly to Allen, his pulse pumped rapidly underneath his skin. A shift in mood had him curious and the alcohol made him bold. Temptation registered in the back of his mind when he once again felt the Italian's gaze flicker his way. Allen turned quietly and stared so intensely that Luciano's eyes finally came to meet his own with an adorably puzzled expression. There was nothing he could do to stop himself from leaning forward and pressing their lips firmly together.

Luciano made a noise of surprise. His hands fisted the sleeves of Allen's jacket as the American pulled him to the rim of his seat, closer. He could feel Luci's muscles tense under his touch and in turn softened his grip, trying to soothe him, invite him to relax. Pulling him impossibly closer, the American let his hand wander over the warm skin of Luciano's neck, his fingers smoothed across his throat and slid up to his chin where he caressed the Italian's jaw with a single finger. A moment of panic ensued when Allen parted from him, a string of saliva making a bridge between their mouths. Hot breath brushed against their cheeks, their noses millimeters from bumping. Allen's stomach twisting when his gaze revealed a pair of downcast fuchsia eyes, already rigid in preparation for a blow, a smack, maybe some harsh words.

Instead the Italian waited before leaning into the hand still grazing against his jaw, allowing Allen to tilt his head up and reunite their lips into a tentative kiss of which Luciano took control. He held him tight and didn't let go.

The third time Luciano kissed him, Allen was in love.

…

There was nothing special about that night.

Nothing suggested anything had changed. The atmosphere was as always, they sat this time in silence drinking well into the night. Allen kept looking over at Luciano and Luciano would let him, as always. Allen would grin, take another sip of beer, and stare.

They didn't talk about the night before; neither of them had spoken a word about it since.

Though suspiciously quiet, the American didn't think anything of the way things played out. And he wouldn't, not yet.

Not even as Luciano paid, stood up, straightened his back, looked over at Allen and murmured. "Goodbye." Before turning his back on the American and walking out the door.

Al watched him go, a little puzzled before replying with a short. "Bye then." And turning back to his drink, a frown marring his face about how off that exchange felt… But he just shrugged. Finished off his drink. And chose to call it an early night.

That was the last time he saw Luciano Vargas.

END

...

 **Hey Guys!**

 **Yeah I'm not dead. Things have been a little crazy what with school, the holidays and all. I promise I'm still writing and that I'll be continuing in the future, things have just been busier than I thought they would, so don't worry!**

 **I took down A Return to Reality because I hated the way it turned out. I'm in the process of rewriting it and I'll be posting the first chapter when it's mostly or completely finished. Don't know when that's going to be but I'll get there.**

 **As for this one I've been working on it for a little while. I'm not completely happy with the way it turned out but I wanted to get some more stuff out and this was what I had. Hope you all enjoy!**

 **Thanks for all the lovely reads and reviews!**


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